Rap

Its difficult to love rap. Surely, when you’re thrust into a new environment its barren and new. This would our here is lonely and cold.
Du-du-des-des-pas.. J’ai lan.

Tonight was dinner and fajitas.
French translation, the girls and boys would get on a roll and leave me for dead.
Behind, unexplained, grasping and gasping.
I have a loose ankle, rolling wide.
And here I am on the other side.
James Bond mashups as the background.
And that isn’t the only strange sound.
And hair and hats and memory preserved.
And all us strangers games, orgies reserved.
And you can trust from the drop and tune-
the evening isn’t over, by the light of the moon.
Make it last. Lets stay keen.
Happy and bright, and light and scene.
And tell old stories, and keep our senses.
Not regretting a thing and counting our recompenses.
And your beautiful eyes and smile.
Your studies and your style.
Politics. Society.
Questioned sobriety.
French and english, that barrier profound.
Judy Dench, my single-ish life, unfound.
Damage, timing, lack of energy and direction.
Discovered in my drunken, quaker selection.
Religious belief and hand gestures,
Changing posture, and foster my destesture.
Because I hate this, this being alone-
This wait, you’re single, pick up the phone.
Because you need to put yourself out there!
Move and smile awake. So, so feeling unfair.
Despair. Putan. Because hookah pipes aren’t the release.
Not free, not out there. Not prostituted.
Blue jacket. Tell tale story.
C’est pareil.
Edoudard, strange staring.
Music plays. Vision and thoughts wrack his brain. Thrown over. The uncomfort. Where are my snuggle buddies. The familiarity. The security. The comfort.
Declan. Between my teeth, sips and questions and poor language, translations mumbo jumpo bollocks and spelling and the idea of what i’m trying to cast to everyone else. The alphabet. Gangstar. X Y Z. You’re chatter. Final. Lost, confused. Banal basic. Your cousin. Shit. True, me. It is, music. Source. Wait. Child. New. Stop. Music. Samething. On the radio. Incredible. Best.
Words that I picked up. No. Listen.

Today in sunlight we have basked.
And tight friends, time we’ve spent.
Questions answered, questions asked.
Beyond it all the tick-tock of rent.

Tomorrow’s dreams, bedtime avoid.
Comfort and ideas, couch and chair.
Here we lay, relaxed destroyed.
Always thinking; its to unfair.

Auto-tuned, disgrace non-comprehend.
To the candy shop, drugs, smoke, relax.
Excel, express of others defend.
Before you do, gather all the facts.

So we snuggle and hold, kiss and talk.
Tomorrow’s a new day, our memory lax let.
On and on, out long limbs stalk.
And yet, and yet. We’ve no need to fret.

Fore we are the future, like it or not.
And you are beautiful, talking with charm.
Style, sex appeal! Reality come hot.
Any advances and compliments are without harm.

Because table and beers.
Freedom of fears.
Of tears, talk and love.
Heaven’s above.

Silence.
What a waste.
all I need is silence and the ability to adjust, change, miss-motivate you.
Because you are mine. And we are germs and we don’t matter and you can just hold me because a comfort now is how I would reward myself not doing something outrageous. A reward worthy of, the new, of something personal.
Fair don’t you think? Deserved. It’s worthwhile. Touch me, hold me, swear in my ear.
Taste me. Lips, ears. Neck kissing. Taste the different temperatures of water. Hold me gently. Eat icecream and bring wine. The candy shop tomorrow, what do I buy your father and mother and young brother. Small gifts. What did her buy people in “beyond a shadow of a doubt” torture the women. Oh and they are, we all are. But beyond the norm. Ok, so we will. And torture them silly. Still, feel we will and sill.

Windows, frosted over.
Rap music, with its resonance and stories.
Bring it in.
Gang signs, sight and a pin.
Bubble popping, energy and worries.
Generous, real, genuine.
Spitting and telling how it is.
From a small city; who’s name you spell.
Late night, awareness sets in, story mode presents itself.
This bizarre moment in time. We crash,
but do we, no we avoid. Magnificent.
Powerful, moment of life, alive.
And strong. Put a hat on, take it to your breast.
Like the video, telling of the growth of a child.

Heads and tails.
Sleeping in a bed-
but the rude bits are still in the middle.
hahah- life’s little quirks.
and so estranged.
So out there, isolated.
Different, and unwelcome and banal, and basic.
And the meaning, look to the gestures, the movements.
Still the rolling ankle. And NOW.
oh now, I could write characters.

Sell, que, double.
BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Edouard. Sat with beer in hand. Making a movie, avec his phone. Talking and singing lyrics to a french song that he knows quite well. His hair has grown out, and he has a modest stubble. His hair is brown, skin tanned to olive. He talks of a person with his two friends on the couch. It’s a somber song, pensive. The narrator has heard it before. Confident and joking make-up his predominant mood and disposition, avec people taking him seriously. We wonder about the interest and the attraction people have in his company. Making chatter simple, easy and comfortable, he risks being basic but is carefree.
He sails, but not while on holidays. He has a drunk-burn. Which looks like: both sunburn when someone was wearing sunglasses and the capillaries’ colouring upon a drink beyond capacity. A cheerful mouth, with a full set of smallish white teeth. He smokes, but doesn’t smell or make a big deal of it. The time spent with others watching videos. The sickness of bodies in close contact isn’t something that effects him. He has dark eyebrows. Yawning and not covering his mouth. He is easy going, smiling and relaxed when he’s in his own home. He can sit for hours if he is given a screen and music to play with. He is easily entertained.
Wearing middle upper class clothes. Boat shoes, grey well fitted pants, and a plain shirt to fit in.
Music and movies, humor motivate him on a daily basis. He wonders to himself the meaning of the moment, late at night. What his goals are, demonstrating a restless spirit, looking up at the ceiling. He’s pensive. Tired, blabbering-no informative. Senselessly holding his phone in his left hand, his creative side, comfortably.
What is his goal this evening? His mistress to bed, what will be his move? How does he feel. He takes a drink. He looks like he’s thinking. He’s caught me watching him, another drink. An intense stare, self awareness. “bizarre”.

Frenching. Self awareness. Danger zone. Maybe its time to brush and sleep, that’s what we’re all thinking. But his next move cannot be told. This is an endurance battle that I will not lose. Video making? I don’t feel comfortable. The mood isn’t captured. Movies in that environment are missed and strange. Can a movie capture a mood? I don’t think so. This music is unknown, but I smile knowingly. And everyone nods. Eurovision! 2016 feels like the theme for every late night with these folks.
As we head toward four after midnight, I wonder where these people get their fucking energy. I laugh in their faces. They look away. How strange. What does this hatted man desire from this situation. Bah my homework is done. And i’m lost, lost and basic.
In depth conversation with guys and girls who’s name’s I don’t even know.
Its basic and underrated. But how can I possibly do this, it wears me down.
Reckless, Wrecked. Singing, Ricky Martinesque classics.
MARTINESQUE!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s